


Any Old Music Will Do

by tisfan



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [44]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, No Condom, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Tony is not Iron Man, Vigilantism, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, bad safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 10:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: The soldier was bored, and he had plenty of money. What he needs now is someone to take off their clothes and not ask any questions. Well, Tony’s good at ONE of those things.





	Any Old Music Will Do

**Author's Note:**

> MCU Kink Bingo -- Square O4 Stripper  
> Tony Stark Bingo -- Square T3 Canon Divergent
> 
> Now with Art by [feignedsobriquet](https://www.pillowfort.social/feignedsobriquet)

The hotel the soldier had picked was safe; no one paid any attention to the kind of people who went in and out of the local flophouse. But it was boring, too. No frills. No pool, no weight room, not even a little cafe. Just a noisy ice machine and a vending machine, and a television that was probably made at least a decade ago. That was mostly okay. Watching a little action was about as close as he wanted to get to a real person right about then. Unfortunately, the pay-per view porno that his cheap hotel room offered was boring. Plastic people pretending to fuck.

He dropped a twenty at the lobby counter and asked the grungy dude who worked the register where he might get a little excitement. Dude didn’t even look away from his phablet sized phone where he was watching pro-wrestling -- or something where men in masks were jumping into rings in order to pretend to punch each other. “You lookin’ for girls, or dick?”

“Ain’t hardly picky,” the soldier said. “Everyone’s got pretty bits.”

“Paper Moon for the ladies,” Dude said. “Rear Entry for gentlemen dancers. Down the strip, that way, they’re about a block after you pass the fireworks warehouse. Can’t really miss ‘em.”

He didn’t bother to thank the Dude, who’d pocketed the twenty like a magic trick without even looking away from his screen.

The soldier tried Paper Moon first, if only because the outside of the building was pretty and clean, and there was a bar and waitresses who walked topless around, bringing drinks.

Sat through a couple of stage dances, drank two bourbons, tipped from the stack of non-serial fives that he’d found in the safehouse. He had plenty of money, of course, and larger bills but fives were good for strippers and pole dances, and no one asked too many questions.

But the girls were… well, it’s not that they weren’t talented. Or pretty. They were both. But they were also jaded. Their eyes didn’t quite meet any of the customers; it was a job, and a job that paid pretty well. But they were outcasts in their own towns, and they knew it. So they didn’t look, because they didn’t want to know the next time they were in the post office, that the guy behind them had seen their tits.

They smiled, but it was a coffee girl smile. Nothing behind it. They didn’t feel wicked, or enticed, or rebellious. Just poor. Poor and pretty.

The soldier stayed long enough for no one to think twice about it, left a huge tip for his waitress. She had a Captain America shield tattooed on one hip, clearly visible over her red, white, and blue bunfloss bikini bottoms and it made him feel both weird and a little horny at the same time. The soldier didn’t ask her when she got off, or if she’d want to, but he might go back to the hotel room later and jerk off to the idea of a blonde girl with victory curls and Cap’s shield on her like a fucking brand.

 

Too restless to go back to the hotel, the soldier crossed the street, walked down another block. Rear Entry was a simple cement building, looked like a fucking bunker. Like you could hit that place with a rocket launcher and it’d laugh at you. He approved.

Twenty dollar cover charge, and then a narrow hallway full of doors. Each door had a picture of the prospective dancer on it, and it cost another twenty dollars to get a key. No open rooms, no pole here, but simple little booths with windows where he could watch the show, just the soldier, and the pretty boy on the other side of the glass.

He wondered if the dancers could see their viewers, or if it was just one way glass.

Beefcake after beefcake picture. Muscle and sinew and thick chest hair. Pass, pass, pass-- _oh_.

Slender, but fit, smooth and lithe and olive skin that was just made for touching. A cute smirk, lips that were designed to make a man think about sin, and that mouth ‘round certain parts of him.

He bought the key. Five minutes for twenty dollars, but he could add more time by sliding tips in through the window.

Underneath the fake orange spray scent, the room smelled like sweat and other less pleasant bodily fluids. Build like a changing stall, with a single chair -- at least the chair smelled more like harsh chemical cleaners, which meant someone had wiped it down recently. There was a dispenser on the wall, lube packets and kleenex. The tissues were free. Lube was not.

No drinks were served, but he’d brought a six pack of beer from the little ABC store next door. Given the prices, the soldier was pretty sure that the owners of both shops were the same people. Didn’t matter. He had money to burn, nothing to do, and he was bored as hell.

He turned the seat around backward, straddled the cushion and crossed his arms over the back. Wondered if the dancer would notice that he was wearing long sleeves and gloves, even as fucking hot as it was. Didn’t matter. There were some things the soldier couldn’t show off in public anymore. He tugged at the shoulder of his jacket, the damn fabric was stuck again, which is why all his previous uniforms had a sleeve missing. He’d be going at the joints with tweezers again, getting threads out.

The curtain pulled up slow, a tempting view of long, trim legs clad in jeans that were fucking spray painted on. Wearing red converse fucking high heels to give those legs and that ass a little boost. Not that he needed it, _holy hell._

The dancer was standing, back to the window, tapping one foot in time to music that came tinny and cheap over the speakers in the viewing room. The curtain finished its scrawl just as the singer started the lyrics, but as far as the soldier was concerned, the music was the least interesting part.

The dancer was wearing a black tank top that showed off ripped biceps, sturdy forearms, graceful wrists. Long fingers.

He had dark brown hair, styled in one of those careful-careless cuts, gelled within an inch of its life.

For the first verse, the chorus, the dancer didn’t even turn, just rolled his hips in time with the beat. It was the most sensual, beautiful thing he’d ever seen, just fucking perfect.

Finally, he turned, and that sly face was grinning -- not a practiced tease or a sultry pout, but an almost electric smile that lit up the whole room.

The soldier checked the key again, the dancer’s name was written on it in black sharpie.

_Tony._

Tony’s whole body rippled in the steps of the dance, hips rolling in slow, sinuous circles, that ass -- which really was his best feature -- often on display as he worked. Tony was halfway through the song before he even started lifting the edge of that tank top, showing off ruthlessly sleek muscles and a perky little belly button that the soldier desperately wanted to stick his tongue in.

By the end of the first song, Tony was shirtless and sweating, his body moving to music in a way that suggested and tempted with all the things he could do to a man. The belt came off and the jeans’ zipper was open, revealing a sumptuous vee of skin.

The lights caught the gleam of perspiration, outlining every muscle and line in sparkling wonder.

The soldier leaned closer in the chair, feeling the back of it pressing against his cock, which was upright and begging for attention.

He wondered if Tony could see him. Wondered if he _wanted_ to be seen.

Those jeans came down an inch, showing off the deep groove in Tony’s hips. He couldn’t help himself, his tongue poked out of his mouth and he licked at his bottom lip. _God, off, off_ , he wanted to see the rest of it.

Tony’s smirk tipped up on one side, evil, tempting, and very, very obviously directed at him.

He didn’t even care. He made wild, passionate love to the man with nothing but his eyes, and that was just fucking _fine_.

The jeans came the rest of the way off with a tug; held together by velcro on the sides for easy removal, and the soldier found himself rutting against the chair, rubbing, subtle and slow, desperately wanting the friction. Wanting to find Tony outside the room and rip his clothes off. Wondered if Tony would like that, or if, like the girls across the way, this was just a job for him. That he went home to a wife and two point four kids, or a lonely bachelor’s pad, or even lived in his mom’s basement.

When was the last time the soldier had ever wondered about a person, what they were like outside that moment, outside of that interaction.

The soldier had no past, but it didn’t mean other people didn’t.

He wanted to know Tony’s past.

Almost as much as he wanted to _see_ Tony’s ass.

And the rest of him.

The soldier slapped a twenty into the push-drawer, like at a bank’s drive-through. The drawer slid to Tony’s slide, and Tony pulled out the bill, folded it, and tucked it into the vee of his jeans, pressing the paper against his skin, that paper that had just been in the soldier’s hands.

When the drawer came back through, he imagined he could smell Tony’s cologne in the waft of air. His sweat.

He wondered if Tony did anything more than dance. Or if he’d be open to the possibility.

Tony continued dancing, each move a luscious, lewd statement, bold. Sexy. _Unbelievable_.

The soldier wanted to jerk it, watching the man shimmy. Wanted to lick those muscles, wanted to see that body moving over him.

He’d always had a sex drive, but his hand usually kept him well enough, and he’d never wanted a specific person quite as badly as he wanted this man.

The pants came off and the soldier stopped fucking breathing.

Holy mother of god, that man was fine. He was… fucking perfect.

The soldier reached down for the beer that he’d brought and without thinking about it, popped the top off using his thumb. He usually tried to avoid showing off. Tried to avoid getting too close to real people at all.

And he wanted to, what, invite an exotic dancer back to his flophouse and pay him for the privilege of just being able to smell his hair? Listen to him talk? More than that? Was he actually willing to get naked with another person, let someone else actually see him?

What the hell was going on in his head?

Tony was wearing a ball-clinging red thong under those jeans, and continued to move, graceful, lovely, perfect, as the music shifted from song to song.

The soldier had a pen in his pocket.

_Do you do more than dance?_

He put that twenty on top of a stack of them. Three hundred dollars, and he wasn’t sure entirely what he was asking for. A lap dance? A little conversation?

A kiss?

 _More_?

Tony took the cash out of the drawer, counted it off while still dancing around, licking his fingers suggestively as he flicked the bills.

His eyebrow went up, sardonic. “Hot blooded?” Tony’s voice came through the speaker, along with the music, blurry with effort, as he was breathing hard from his exertions. “Just nod, I can’t hear you.”

He waggled a hand back and forth, took a sip of his beer. Tipped the bottle toward Tony. _Come have a drink with me?_

Tony looked down at the wad of cash in his hand, then back at the window, the beer, the man making the offer. He nodded, and the curtain slowly descended as Tony picked up his pants and shirt and headed for the door on the far side of the room.

Waiting, the soldier had time to wonder if he was being stupid. Letting the little head do the thinking. What the hell was he even going to say? He took a long swallow of beer, letting the alcohol soothe him, just a little.

“Tell me you drink decent beer, Mister,” Tony said, opening the door on the viewer’s side of the room. Somewhere in those few moments, he’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants, grey with Juicy written on the ass. Still shirtless. Still sweaty, with a small towel draped around his neck.

“They sell it next door, you tell me,” he said.

The soldier bent to grab a fresh one, and Tony snagged his beer right out of his hand. Tony drank the last few swigs from the bottle, his mouth round and lewd over the lip of the bottle where the soldier’s mouth had been just moments before. “Thanks,” Tony said.

“You’re uh… welcome,” the soldier said, because what the fuck even? If he hadn’t already been hard and horny as hell, that would have done it. He opened the fresh beer, snapping the cap off. He took a sip, offered the bottle to Tony.

“Gonna offer me a seat, big guy?” Tony practically draped himself  across the back of the chair, pushing the boundaries on the soldier’s personal space. “That was, you know, an invitation to sit in your lap, in case I was being too coy.”

The soldier almost couldn’t do it; his dick was hard enough to drill for diamonds, and he had to lift up to turn in the chair. But, he wanted to, holy shit, he wanted to.

Finally, he managed to get situated and Tony didn’t even hesitate to climb him like a tree, like a demented koala baby. Tony’s arms went around the soldier’s neck, the beer bottle bouncing lightly against his spine.

“So, uh, I don’t usually do this,” Tony admitted, “but, um. You seemed nice. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Tryin’ not to,” the soldier said.

“Hmmm, okay, not much into talking, are you?”

He tilted his head to one side. “Workin’ on it,” he said.

“Okay, big silent type, I can get into it. You got a name, handsome?”

He had to search around for a bit, but it came to him eventually. “James,” he said. There were a lot of things he’d been called, the American, the Asset, the Winter Soldier… _Bucky…_ but James fit. James was a good, solid name.

“Nice to meet you, James,” Tony said. “I’m Tony. You... what are you expecting here for your three hundred dollar tip?”

James shrugged. “Just wanted to see you up close a bit. I don’t ‘spect nothin’ you don’t want to give. I ain’t… you’re not…”

“You’re giving me the benefit of the doubt and not assuming I’m a whore.”

James tipped his head again. “Didn’t think that,” he said. “Jus’, you’re the prettiest man I ever saw, first person I actually wanted to talk to, in forever. Thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“I take it mirrors are not really on your to-do list?” When James frowned at that, Tony added, “I mean, you, looking in one? Have you even seen yourself?”

No. No and _no_. James avoided looking in mirrors. He didn’t recognize himself most of the time anymore. The thing he was now wasn’t the man he’d once been. It wasn’t even what they’d made him. The person he’d been once, that he’d seen in the museum, that was what he used to be, but he wasn’t that anymore. He didn’t know who he was and he wasn’t trying to figure it out. Not just yet. “Not really,” he said.

“Huh, okay,” Tony said, and he squirmed a little over James’s lap. “Look, you already paid for like, the rest of my shift. Do you, uh… wanna go grab something to eat?”

“Like, a date?”

“Yeah, you’re getting the picture.”

“Is that safe, for you?”

“If you’re planning something stupid, let me advise you not to. I will mace you right in the eyeballs,” Tony said, and that was almost adorable, like a kitten growling.

“I ain’t planning nothin’ stupid,” James promised, and he crossed his heart just like he was back in grade school.

“Yeah, you’re cute,” Tony said. “Come on, let’s go, I am _starving_ and I want a cheeseburger.”

“Okay.” He barely suppressed a groan when Tony climbed out of his lap, all long legs and tight, taut thighs, and round ass, and entirely too much _squirming_. “Cheeseburger. I passed a burger joint on my way here.”

“Barton’s Grill, yeah,” Tony said. “They’re pretty good. Come on, feed me, big guy.”

“You, uh, might wanna put a shirt on,” James said.

“No shoes no shirt, still get service,” Tony said with a lewd wink. “But you’re probably right.”

***

Tony was pretty sure that James was actually, deeply disturbed, and that this was probably one of the dumbest things he’d done in a long damn time. For a supposed genius, he was kinda an idiot.

At least that’s what Howard, his father, would have said.

Howard, who disowned Tony in favor of his best friend and business partner. It wasn’t like it mattered all that much. There was only so much Howard could do to ruin Tony -- the Carbonell fortune came directly to him. The dancing, well, that paid some bills, but mostly he did it because it pissed Howard off and there was nothing he could do about it.

And Tony found it exciting.

But this guy, this _James_ \-- and Tony was about ninety percent sure that James was a fake name, the guy had said it like he wasn’t sure -- had stared at Tony. Not that Tony wasn’t used to being stared at, but not like this. Not like he was water and James was dying of thirst in the desert.

And not like some of the men who came, the ones who were all the same and Tony didn’t bother to look at them. The ones who saw Tony as a thing, as an object, as a hole to fill. Kinda like Howard had seen his brain as a hole to fill. Different hole, same dicks.

Whatever. He didn’t have time to psychoanalysis himself right now; Tony was in the middle of signing up to be murdered, found dead in a ditch with his throat cut. Or something.

But Tony never could resist a mystery, and this one just screamed out in capital fucking letters that there was something mysterious going on here.

James was battle weary, built like a goddamn tank, but he also looked like he’d forgotten things like basic hygiene. Human contact. Tony was going to bet the guy had been in a war at some point.

It was the little details that Tony liked to pick at; in his spare time, he enjoyed playing a bit of Sherlock Holmes personal case studies. He liked to think in a previous life, he might have been a detective.

“So, uh, what brings you out this way, James?” Tony asked. The town was just on the border of Vegas, not big and glitzy, but cheap and sinful and just about anything you could want from Vegas was here, if not as clean. Boys, girls, drugs, pit fighting, anonymity. Forgetfulness. Booze. Tony loved it.

It was safe and it was dangerous at the same time.

He could just float, unnoticed.

Maybe that was what appealed to James, as well.

“Needed somewhere to lay low a while,” James said. “Got in some trouble with, uh, a former employer. They don’t really have a retirement plan.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling, all those no-competition contracts, too,” Tony said. He was, in fact, waiting out one of his. He was going to get his company back from Obie. Howard had fucked up. If he wanted Obie to have the company, he should have given it to Tony, who would have tried damn hard to bail. Now, Tony found he wanted it just to spite the old man.

He had a plan. It was a long reaching plan, lots of scope and steps in the meanwhile, but when he got Stark Industries back, he would rename it Stark Resilience, because that’s just what he was.

And in the meanwhile, he’d entertain and please himself, because that’s something you could always count on, was Tony Stark to pleasure himself.

“Well, no place really has a good retirement package anymore, as corporations are chipping away at worker rights, but are you talking bad package, or can’t retire?” Tony should probably shut up, it was really none of his business, honestly, but James wasn’t talking, and Tony hated the sound of silence.

“Uh,” James said, then glanced around as if anyone on the street in this little dead end town might be listening. “I kinda worked government black ops.” He took a deep breath. “Not this government, either.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Bad retirement package. Are they looking for you?”

“Probably,” James admitted.

“That could be bad.”

“Yeah.”

Not only was his mystery date gorgeous -- and seriously, the guy thought Tony was hot? This dude was fucking molten and Tony was already envisioning a very enjoyable evening sitting on the guy’s dick -- but he was in trouble. And smart enough to know it.

Yeah, Tony couldn’t resist a puzzle, and this one had all sorts of interesting pieces.

The burger place was a hole in the wall, but the food was good, and relatively inexpensive. Plus, bottomless fries, which was a big deal, because Tony loved fries. He could probably live on fries and cheeseburgers, honestly, and with the amount of core work he got done with his day job, he could afford the extra calories.

Also, there was something sort of smug and sly about being a not-quite-billionaire and eating off the cheap menu. It amused him, even if he did leave large tips most of the time. All in ones, too, because that was his job, and that amused him, too.

“Two house specials,” Tony said, as they took a table in the back. “And whatever beer’s on tap. He’s buying.”

The waitress just grinned and got them beers. She’d seen Tony often enough that she knew who he was -- or more precisely, who he wanted her to think he was. No one in this skeevy little town knew who Tony Stark was, they just knew Tony, the exotic dancer.

James took a seat, back to the wall, so he could look out over the room. Tony slid in the seat across from him, kicked his sneakers off and put his feet up in James’ lap. James jerked, a little, in surprise, and then his hand -- a gloved hand, and that was weird, really, it was fucking hot out in the desert -- dropped onto Tony’s ankle. His hand was heavy, but gentle, and he pushed his thumb absently into the arch of Tony’s foot, which felt so damn good that Tony about spontaneously combusted on the spot.

“Oh, fuck me,” Tony said, “I’ll give you an hour to stop.”

James glanced down at what he was doing, then actually smiled. It was the first time Tony had seen that smile and it occurred to him that he’d like it to keep happening. Desperately. The man was beautiful, even without the smile, but he turned into something almost angelic. “Honey,” James said, “I will rub anything of yours you want, for as long as you want me to.”

“Okay, you didn’t have to make it weird,” Tony said, but he didn’t move his foot, either, because weird or not, holy hell the man’s hands were magical.

“I don’t reckon I know how t’ make it any other way,” James said. “Been a far cry from normal for a while now.”

“Well, in that case, don’t let me wreck a good thing,” Tony remarked. The burgers and fries came out, hot and dripping grease, the beer was cold and condensation dripped down the sides of the mugs.

James ate his burger without taking his gloves off. Tony tried not to stare, but really, that had to be nasty, getting burger grease all over the gloves and bits of cotton cloth sticking to his fries, but James ate like he hadn’t seen food in a while.

“Skip breakfast?” Tony asked, curious.

‘Hmmm? Yeah, probably,” James said. “Don’t always remember things like that anymore.”

“Man, your boss fucked you up good?”

“You might say.”

Well, far be it from Tony to get between a man and a meal. Besides, watching James’ mouth move while he ate was distracting as hell, and Tony had to remember to watch what he was doing, after he almost shoved a fry up his nose.

James pushed back a little when he was done, resting his hands on the table. The wobbly piece of furniture tipped heavily to the side when his left hand came down on it.

“So. Date. What’s next?”

“You tell me,” James said. “I told you, I aint--”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re nice and polite and gentlemanly. I’m not. Want to find a bed and spread me out on it?”

James blinked, his breath sped up a little, and Tony would swear on a stack of science books that his pupils dilated right there on the damn spot.

“Yeah, I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Tony said. “Come on, come on, show me the goods.”

James settled the bill, and they walked down the street some more. James apparently not owning a car, or at least, not driving one at the moment. It wasn’t too far to walk, and the sun was down so it was getting chilly. Desert weather. Tony scootched closer and let James put an arm around his shoulders. The man put out heat like nobody’s business. What had he done, wrapped himself in an electric blanket before leaving the house?

Not house.

Hotel.

Of course.

 _I am going to die tonight,_ Tony decided. A quick glance over at James and he decided he didn’t much care as long as he got to get his hands (and maybe mouth, and other body parts) on a naked James.

Flophouse hotel.

James didn’t hesitate, just led him up two flights of stairs to a shoddy little room.

Well, not so shoddy, Tony decided. James had obviously been there for a while, there were clothes in the dresser and hanging in the closet, little personal items here and there. Also, the windows were papered over with tin foil, and there was some subtle, but substantial improvements made to the room’s security.

Also, more than one gun tucked into discreet locations.

“Planning for bad company?”

“Yes.”

“Given that I’m now in the room with you, I’m not sure that I’m not owed an explanation. If someone comes gunning for you, they’re likely to hit me as well, and I’d like to know who my potential murderer is.”

“Hydra.”

“Oh.” Tony clamped his mouth shut. Hydra had been a huge scandal last year. The team that took down the alien invasion in New York a few years ago -- including the actualfacts Captain fucking America, and damn, Tony was glad that Howard wasn’t alive to see that asswipe resurrected, and a Norse god -- had unearthed a grand conspiracy, live on National television.

There’d been a Hydra agent in the middle of that mess, supposedly tried to wipe out about fifteen million people in one single catastrophic event. That guy had failed, disappeared. No one knew who he was or what happened to him.

Tony’s eyes narrowed a little bit.

 _No_.

Except for the ragged hair and the thick layers on a hot desert day; the way he wouldn’t show his skin. The back story.

Fuck.

Tony stared at James for a long moment.

_Yes, fuck._

“So, uh, how do you want me?” Tony wondered. “Because you know, I don’t fuck for money, but I am well worth it anyway. Top, bottom, reverse cowgirl, sitting in your lap, in front of a mirror, tell me, you got a favorite position? I’m all about new stuff. Want to nail me up against the wall?”

“Holy _shit_ , the mouth on you,” James marveled.

“Well, I’d like to get my mouth on you,” Tony said. “Or the other way around, equal opportunity oral sex, that’s my motto.”

“Is it?”

“It could be, if I was the sort of person who had a motto.”

James actually blushed, a brick red crawling out of the neck of his shirt and up around his ears. It was adorable, someone who actually paid for Tony’s company being embarrassed by it. Or maybe he was just eager, Tony supposed that could happen, too. “Uh, I ain’t been close to nobody in a while, don’t…” He made an aimless gesture indicated himself. “Don’t feel comfortable takin’ my clothes off in front of somebody.”

“Not like lewd, wanton, and shameless me,” Tony said, “in other words.”

“Don’t be like that,” James said. “You’re fuckin’ perfect is what you are, so… why don’t you, like… show off a bit?”

“You want me to spread all over your bed and do for myself? I mean, I didn’t sign up for the self-service pump, but I suppose I can manage it.”

There was no doubt that if expressions had physical results, James’ gaze would have set the damn bed on fire. So, it wasn’t exactly what Tony had in mind, but he thought he might be willing to do a lot to have someone looking at him like that.

Stripping out of sweats and a tee wasn’t the same as ditching his stripper gear -- all of that was meant to come off relatively cleanly, but it wasn’t good for streetwear. Nothing quite like ending up accidentally naked because someone tried to pluck your sleeve to get your attention. Not that it had happened to Tony, because honestly, the velcro shit that the stripper gear was held together with scratched at his skin and he wouldn’t have worn that shit for ten minutes longer than he needed to. But he’d heard stories.

They always told stories.

With James’ eyes hot on him, attention completely for Tony, which Tony craved even on the best days, he stripped, laid down on the ancient comforter that covered the cheap hotel room’s bed, and put himself on display.

***

The soldier -- he still couldn’t really think of himself as James, or even Bucky, which some of his friends had called him, back, so long ago that it wasn’t even worth remembering -- sat down to watch as Tony laid down over the bed, naked and gleaming and perfect.

Tony piled up the pillows so that he could sprawl, half reclined, and watch the soldier watching him. He spread his thighs, brought his knees up, and made a perfect picture, all indolent lust and sensual hedonism.

He wasn’t hard yet, but the soldier thought it wouldn’t take Tony long, the way he was idly dragging his fingers along the length of his dick.

Tony knew how to please himself, and he knew how to put on a show. Everything was done with a mingling of purpose, the way he stroked himself without hurry. The soldier would have been already thrusting through a mostly closed fist, seeking nothing except release.

Tony teased. He caressed. He let his hand curl lazy over the head, twisted his wrist. He made sure that the soldier could see everything, there was no time in which Tony’s entire dick was covered. He kept his legs spread, letting the soldier drink his fill of those pale, taut thighs, get a wink of that dak opening to Tony’s body.

“You got any lube around here, this always goes better with lube, please god, tell me you were prepared to bring me back to your room.”

The soldier hadn’t been, but he kept lube around for his own use. For him, it was to smooth the way and make sure jerking it took as little time as possible. The soldier didn’t even like to look at himself, even when chasing release. He took the bottle out of the dresser drawer and tossed it. Tony squeaked when the plastic container hit him in the stomach with a dull thock, but he got his hand slick in no time, and he was going right to town, stroking and moaning with enthusiasm.

The soldier found a chair, sat down. If he let his hand drift along his own thigh, that was his own business, wasn’t it?

“You wanna steer this?” Tony asked, twitching his cock from one side to the other before rubbing it vigorously. “I can follow directions, simple things, like ‘Tony, I’d like to watch you finger yourself open for me.’ You know, stuff like that.”

The soldier’s mouth dropped open and he had to struggle to wet his lips. His mouth had gone bone dry. And then he thought about getting his mouth on that luscious dick and it filled up with saliva, and he had to swallow hard before he could talk at all. “No, that’s… you just do what feels best, an’ I’ll just watch.”

“You got it, boss,” Tony said.

What apparently felt good to Tony was making a lot of eye contact, stroking himself with luxurious touches, and making sinful, moaning noises. The soldier found himself pushing, not quite subtly, at the bulge in his own jeans, trying to make it more comfortable and just ratcheting up the tension even more.

“You know I can help you with that,” Tony offered. “Look, I know, you’re self conscious, but what… look, I can kneel up like this and you can rub against me and I don’t even have to see you, but it would feel so good, I promise you’d like it.”

The soldier shook his head. “What is it with you?”

“I just want to get your damn hands on me,” Tony spluttered, almost as if he was confused that the soldier was even _asking_.

Except that the soldier wanted to. He wanted to get his damn hands on Tony. Both of them, even, and that was a damn dangerous thought.

He considered it, then. “Yeah, okay, turn around. Don’t… I don’t want you to see me.”

Tony was rapid, obedient, and he was on his knees facing the headboard, that perfect ass out and presented for the soldier’s delectation.

_God, god, fuck. Damn._

The soldier tugged off his right glove, flexing his fingers. He unzipped, climbed on the bed and tugged his pants down around his thighs, cock springing free gratefully.

“Don’t turn ‘round,” the soldier cautioned, and then he reached around Tony’s hip. His hand was sweaty from the glove, warm from his natural body heat, and Tony practically yelped when his fingers closed around the length of Tony’s shaft.

“Oh, yes, yes, that’s right, just like--” and Tony was backing into his, that naked ass grinding against the soldier’s hips. “Holy hell, are you sure I can’t turn around and look, because that feels huge, and I just wanna--”

“Pushy,” the soldier accused, and he stroked Tony with a little more enthusiasm, pushing his left hand down at the back of Tony’s neck, forcing his head down, his ass up, and Tony went back to wriggling around with glee.

“I’m not--oh, god. Please, that’s… yeah, like that. Yeah, that. Oh, that’s good. Tell me you want it, big guy. Also, tell me you got a condom.”

The soldier rubbed his cock in the split of Tony’s ass, slightly slick from the lube that had dripped back there to pave the way, so to speak.

“What th’ hell do I need a rubber for?” The soldier wondered, forgetting who it was he was talking to, forgetting that Tony didn’t know, forgetting that nobody knew anymore. He couldn’t get the clap if he was a mind to and lay with the most diseased strumpet he could find.

“Well, most people who don’t want to end up getting antibiotic shots in the junk, they tend to use ‘em,” Tony mumbled, talking into the pillow, his voice reedy with lust.

“I ain’t got nothin’ you can catch, an’ I sure as hell ain’t gonna get anything from you.”

“You say that like you know me,” Tony said. “I should remind you that we just met.”

 _You say that like I haven’t known you for every moment I’ve been alive,_ the soldier thought, and he was almost paralyzed with that thought. Where had it come from, that alien notion. Except maybe the soldier hadn’t felt like he was alive, not before he first looked at Tony.

Romantic notion, that. He snorted, mocking himself.

Except… maybe Tony did know him.

The soldier wondered if that were true, and if it were true, what he was supposed to do about it now.

“I say it like you know me,” the soldier said.

Tony pushed back, rolled over. His eyes flicked from the soldier’s face to his mouth, down to his right hand and the left still contained in his glove. “Yeah, okay, maybe I got an idea who you are.”

“Who am I?” The soldier asked, because he didn’t fucking know anymore.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Tony said. “Sergeant. 107th, then Howling Commandos. Captain America’s right hand man. More colloquially known recently as the Winter Soldier. You gonna kill me now?”

The soldier looked down at the naked man under him. “No. But I might fuck you, if you’ll let me.”

“I’m not seeing what my permission’s got to do with it,” Tony said.

The soldier closed his eyes against a pain that was very real, very warranted, and then croaked, “your permission’s got _everything_ to do with it. I ain’t… I won’t…”

“Well, that makes one of us, because damn, I want you in me, please,” Tony said.

That was enough permission for the soldier. “Lube,” he demanded, and when Tony handed it over, he leaned down, kissed him wet and solid on the mouth, and that was almost enough to distract him from everything else he wanted to do, because Tony’s mouth was quick and clever, hot and sensual, his tongue danced inside the soldier’s mouth, tasted his teeth, his tongue.

_Oh, god._

He gave over all notions of conquering and surrendered to the bliss that was Tony’s mouth, his hands that roamed over the soldier’s body, not caring. Those hands went up the soldier’s shirt, fingertips exploring the map that were the scars on his body.

The soldier snarled, got a hand on the back of his shirts and yanked them over his head. Tony knew, Tony was sure, and he didn’t even gasp as the soldier’s mechanical arm was revealed. “That sure is something,” Tony said.

It wasn’t, and the soldier didn’t like to see it. It wasn’t his. It had been put there against his will and while he used it, he’d never do anything more than resent it. If he could have clawed it off, he would have. There were scars all around the seam that spoke to that desire, but he’d never been able to bear enough pain to get rid of the damn thing, and he stopped trying after they’d hurt him enough.

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you again,” Tony was saying, and the soldier realized that some of his inner monologue was coming out of his mouth. “I got you, right here, yeah, that’s good, yeah, touch me like that, I like… that’s so good.”

The soldier made wordless, pleading sounds as Tony carded his fingers through the soldier’s hair, rubbed at the soldier’s back, tweaked one nipple, then the other. His hands wandered, touching, stroking, and oh, there, there.

With only his own hand for company for years, decades, even, the touch of another person nearly undid him right there, right away.

He wanted, oh, he wanted do much. Just the feel of skin against skin was enough to make him want to cry, and he batted Tony’s hand away, so that he didn’t come too soon and ruin everything.

He opened Tony up, raw and probably too fast, too rough, but Tony didn’t complain, just clung tighter, wriggled around to give him access, and then the soldier was pushing in to that tight, slick, heat, that squeeze and clench, and he was weeping, but he didn’t care. He pushed his face against Tony’s throat, hid himself in that dark, safe space, and fucking slowly into Tony’s willing body.

He hadn’t known he was starving for kisses until he tasted Tony’s mouth, hadn’t known he craved that skin on skin until he was laying naked on top of Tony’s lithe body. He was a beggar, a street urchin, Oliver at the table saying can I have some more, sir? He thrust in and Tony made some choked, strangled noise.

The soldier looked down at Tony’s face. Tony arched under him, expression showing only bliss, but the soldier slowed down, let Tony’s body adjust. Truth, let his own untried and unknown body adjust. He hadn’t touched another person with anything other than violence for decades, what did this soldier’s muscle know of love, or tenderness or passion.

Cursing himself, barely able to think for the battle he was waging inside his own head, the need to plow into Tony’s body, claim it for his own, and Tony’s need to be pampered and petted.

He got the damn metal arm under Tony’s body, balancing them both. His flesh hand came down on Tony’s cock and stroked him with infinite patience. He could wait. He knew how to wait. His fingers teased and stroked, and he felt Tony gasp and quiver with response, faint shudders that rippled up his spine.

The soldier moved, thrusting deep, hard, again and again as the primitive rhythm known to all men took over. The waves of pleasure swallowed him and he drowned in them.

When Tony spilled, hot and wet and urgent over his hand, the soldier chased his own release. The last thing he remembered was his shout, crying out for Tony, and then he collapsed, near to sobbing, against Tony’s neck.

“There, there,” Tony soothed him. “You’re okay. I got you.”

***

“So, how did you know?”

Tony didn’t really want to talk, ug, talking, why? He just wanted to lay there in bliss and let the sweat cool on his skin, and not have to explain anything. “You really don’t know who I am?”

James rolled over, the rush of cool air over Tony’s skin made him groan. “I really don’t.”

“I’m Tony Stark,” Tony told him. “You knew my dad, once upon a time. I met your Captain America once, when Fury tried to convince me to join his secret boy band, but all he wanted was a sugar daddy, and I just don’t have enough right now. Not for the kind of funding he wanted. He was going to back me to get Dad’s company back, but honestly, i told him where to stick it.”

  
“Nick Fury?”

“Yeah, that’s the guy, do you know him?”

“I killed him,” James confessed. “Under orders. I don’t… I don’t do that anymore.”

“Glad to hear it,” Tony said. “Not that you killed Fury, which by the way, you didn’t. He’s not dead. He faked his death, but you got to get up really early to slip something by me these days, and Fury’s not even close to that good.”

“Oh.” James licked his lips. “Okay. That’s… that’s good, I guess. You know Steve?”

“As much as I want to. Captain Tightpants and I didn’t get on so well. He seemed to think I should be as enthused as Howard to meet him, and eager to get to work for no gain to me. He’s seen the footage, I was told. Whatever that meant. It’s okay. I’ve been disappointing people since I was born, no skin off my nose.”

“Heh,” James commented. “He… uh, he’s probably lookin’ for me, too.”

“Well, we don’t have to let him find you, do we?”

“We? There’s a we?”

“I don’t have enough cash to fund an entire team of out there, in the public eye super heroes,” Tony said. “But I’ve got a nice lab. And some good ideas. And I can probably upgrade that arm of yours if you wanted. And if that led to a little vigilante justice, well, that’d be between you and me and the wall, right?”

James raised an eyebrow.

“You just met me yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta fly before you can crawl, am I right?”

James snuggled down against Tony’s side, kissed his neck. “Yeah, maybe you are.”

 


End file.
